


make this feel like home

by manchestereyes



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Dogs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Issues, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Pining, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, high school theatre, school stress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27103330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manchestereyes/pseuds/manchestereyes
Summary: It's senior year. There's two boys. And only one scholarship that will get them out of this tiny Pennsylvania town. But when the universe forces them together, Dan finds a mystery in Phil that just might force him to confront the most deeply buried parts of himself, whether he's ready or not.Featuring high school theater shenanigans, college app stress, plenty of mutual pining, and DOG CONTENT!!!
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4
Collections: Phandom Writers Discord 2020 Fall Exchange





	make this feel like home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanDanAndPhilNot (enbycalhoun)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbycalhoun/gifts).



> If I say anything here, it's gonna totally reveal who I am so I'll just say: Cal, it's been a total joy being in this server with you and I absolutely loved your prompts! I kinda ran away with this one but I think you're gonna really love this story and I can't wait to share the rest! I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

It should be illegal to assign homework on the second day of school. 

Okay sure, Dan’s in his senior year now with a buttload of AP classes he forced his way into. And it’s not like he hasn’t been in honors classes his entire high school career, each with its own pile of summer homework--the ultimate sin. But good lord, have all seven of his teachers collectively forgotten the definition of a _weekend_?

Not to mention, they’ve barely had time to learn anything, so Dan’s somehow supposed to teach himself five different college-level humanities courses and calculus. All while preparing for _Grease_ auditions on Wednesday. Yeah, sure. Totally doable.

But Dan didn’t claw his way to the top of his class by complaining (okay, maybe he did a bit--but isn’t that what all honors kids do?). So he plonks his Psych book on the kitchen table with a massive _thwack_ , fully prepared to spend the next three hours attempting to comprehend the same three words. 

He should have known he wouldn’t even get the chance to flip to the first chapter, though, before his mom stumbled through the back door, arms piled high with grocery bags.

“Oh Dan, thank God you’re here, I really didn’t want to yell down the hall—hold on, you’re not working on homework already?” 

The grocery bags drop to the floor with a thud, pulling Dan’s eyes away from his book to find her brushing a strand of wavy brown hair towards her ponytail. “And don’t even think about using it as an excuse to get out of the block party. I need to see you interacting with humans that aren’t your own age.”

An aggravated sigh escapes before Dan can help it. Thankfully, his younger brother Adrian takes that moment to bound down the stairs, distracting their mom from the half-hearted admonishment Dan knows his “attitude” has just earned him. 

“Did you say the block party is tonight? Man, I forgot, these summer days are all drifting together--hey Dan, you have homework _already_? Must be rough being in high school!” 

Dan wants to smack his brother’s stupid baseball cap into his face, silently begging their mom to tell Adrian off for being a little shit. But of course she’s busy unpacking sheaths of cookies and a veggie tray while scowling down at her phone. 

Dan knows a lost battle when he sees one, so he settles for shooting Adrian a dirty look and reminding himself this is just a middle school phase.

_In, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Out, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8._ _In… and out._

It’s fine. His brain was barely primed for working anyway. It might help to have a change of scenery.

But between volunteering tomorrow and all his audition prep, he’ll be damned if anyone even attempts to socialize with him this evening. 

“Alright, boys,” Dan’s mom announces, running a hand down her untucked ivory blouse as she straightens up. “Dan, you take our lawn chairs over to the Lesters.’ Your dad’s working late again, so just take the three. They should be in the garage. Adrian, I want you to bring the cookies and veggies--but for the last time, _do not open anything_ , please. I hope this goes without saying, but they’re for our neighbors. Oh, and go ahead and help out with anything the Lesters may need. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the extra pairs of hands. And Dan, you can finally catch up with Phil, how’s that sound?”

Adrian mumbles his agreement, while Dan can only shove his Psychology materials back in his backpack with a scowl. The excitement in her voice is painful.

God. Fucking shitballs. Had she told them the party was going to be at the Lesters’ this year? 

That’s just what Dan needs today--yet another reminder of how tenuous his hold on valedictorian is. Phil Lester, who’s in every single one of Dan’s smart kid AP classes this year except Spanish (apparently Phil’s taking Japanese, a fact that Dan is extremely jealous of, but he refuses to add “weeb” to the list of names thrown at him), has been trading the #1 spot with Dan since they were freshmen. Dan can’t understand why it’s so important for Phil to be at the top, since he breezes through school like nobody’s business. As if that wasn’t enough, he just had to go and get a freaking _quiff_ this year, highlighting the striking contrast between his black hair and pale skin and making the blue in his eyes and the pink in his lips pop more than Dan thought possible, and…

Yeah, then there’s the fact that he’s the only out gay kid in their school. And if Dan ever so much as _associated_ with him, he’d never hear the end of it.

So, the Lesters’ is pretty much the last place he’d be caught dead at right now. Dan’s never been so grateful for his mountain of homework.

Low-hung August sunshine burns his eyes as the canvas from the chairs digs into his arms and to no one’s surprise, Dan finds himself dreaming of evenings where he’s stuck inside at play practice. 

Really, he doesn’t understand why nobody took his suggestion to push auditions to the week before school starts. Yeah, it might be impossible to get new freshmen who don’t have friends or siblings in theatre, but it’s not like sticking it in the middle of the first full week makes it any better. Dan remembers what it’s like to be a fresher. It was all he could do just to find the Little Theatre and act like he too owned the place. 

The Lesters are just three houses down from Dan’s corner house, yet he doesn’t even register his surroundings until he’s hit the end of the block. His shoulders ache as he begins the trek back, cursing his inability to focus. 

But it’s fine. He’ll just pay closer attention to everything now. He’s not about to let any Lester catch him sulking. Or Adrian, for that matter.

Mrs. Lester answers the door with a wide smile, and Dan breathes his first sigh of relief since arriving home that afternoon. “Dan, honey,” she exclaims, “I’m so glad you could make it--here, I’ll let Phil know you’ve made it, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you--”

“Oh thanks Mrs. Lester, but you don’t have to. I mean, we’ve both got a mountain of homework, I’m sure--”

“Nonsense, it’s the weekend! You know, I keep telling Phil, they work you kids too hard in those AP classes. Really, when I was your age…”

Dan forces his lips into a polite smile, shifting the chairs a bit in his aching arms. He may not know the Lesters that well, but he knows where this is going. Maybe if he can keep Mrs. Lester reminiscing, she’ll forget about Phil and he can make it to the backyard unscathed…

But then, because Dan is living in a teen movie and the screenwriter has it out for him, a flash of black hair comes peeking around the stairs to Dan’s left, followed by a pair of black denim-clad legs that are far too long to be legal. 

As if summoned by the sound of his name (and really, who comes _all the way down the stairs_ when their mom mentions them in conversation), he bounds over to his mother with a mile-long grin and a winning twinkle in his eye. 

Dan knows that grin, though. He’s used it on his nana more times than he can count. And sure enough--

“Hey Mom! So it looks like people are starting to get here, does that mean the party’s starting already?” 

The ease with which Phil leans against her sparks a flicker of annoyance in Dan’s chest. What kind of seventeen year old boy is that close to his mother anyway? 

“Mmmm Phil lovey, you’re not getting out of setup that easily. Here, why don’t you take Dan’s chairs, goodness knows he’s been standing here long enough!”

Phil spins around with all the grace of a newborn zebra and takes Dan’s chairs without a word, his expression blank. Dan barely has the chance to register the Muse logo on his T-shirt before Phil stalks off to the sliding glass doors in the living room. 

“Well, I should probably, uh, join him just to make sure I, er, know where I’m sitting,” Dan says, shuffling in place. With his nana’s reminders of “Manners, Daniel,” echoing in his mind, he plasters on a bright smile, adding, “It’s really nice to see you, Mrs. Lester!” 

Like Phil, he doesn’t wait for a response before trudging outside as quickly as his heavy backpack will let him.

The Lesters’ backyard may not be that different from the Howells’ in size and shape, but the current extravagance more than makes up for its usual mediocrity. Dan’s been to enough back to school block parties over the years (with hosting duties trading off among the neighbors) to know that the Lesters always have the best decorations. And this has only grown since Martyn went off to college and Phil gained more independence, walking and eventually--Dan assumes, although he’s never seen Phil behind the wheel--driving to his various activities and responsibilities. 

Dan has to admire Mrs. Lester’s decorating skills, though. While most of their neighbors’ yards look like they’d ransacked Party City’s clearance section, the Lesters’ actually has some style and a color theme--although it may be a bit overeager for late August. 

Strung across the faded green siding on either side of the sliding doors is the message “HAPPY FALL!” in red, orange, and yellow letters, complete with an assortment of decorative leaves and pumpkins and ghosts and witch’s hats. In front of Dan is a long table covered in an orange plastic tablecloth that Adrian is leaning against and boring his almost 12-year-old eyes into a bowl of chocolate covered pretzels. Apart from the small selection of snacks is a pair of wooden apples that sit on either end, along with a pile of paper leaves and tape, presumably to make everyone else’s lawn chairs match the Lesters’. 

Sure enough, as soon as he sets up the last of Dan’s chairs at one of the smaller card tables, Phil snatches up a handful of leaves and a tape dispenser, setting to work on the dark green canvas with a scowl.

Just then, the glass doors woosh open, forcing Dan to jump aside before Phil’s parents crash into him with yet another table. They shuffle over to Phil and the green chairs and there’s something in the way Mrs. Lester’s entire face crinkles in gratitude towards her husband that pricks a tiny hole in Dan’s chest. 

He has to look away when Mr. Lester compliments the gold tablecloth she picked out. 

Really, whose parents _get along_ these days? It’s 2014 for fuck’s sake, almost every house on the block has a blended family or a single parent desperately trying to make ends meet. It’s no wonder Phil’s so close to the top of the class. With such a cushy home life and no parental drama to deal with, he probably has all the mental energy in the world to dedicate to school. Must be nice.

Eventually, Dan gets a chance to slide his massive backpack to the ground and settle into one of his chairs, shooing his mom and brother away to have a few moments with the philosophers who apparently paved the way for modern psychology. 

It’s impossible to read a single paragraph with the ridiculous playlist and his neighbors’ shouts of greeting, though. And again, a flash of irritation creeps up his spine at the thought of all these eighteenth-century people having nothing better to do than sit and think about life and humans and thinking and shit. Didn’t they have, like, scurvy and tyrannical kings to worry about? And butter to churn? 

And goddamnit, if Dan has to sit through that stupid _Frozen_ song one more time, he’s going to rip his own hair out, come on, who _chose_ this playlist--

“Dan, hon!” Like an apparition from his worst nightmares (okay, maybe not _that_ bad but he was just about to get his focus back, seriously), Dan’s mom drops into the leaf-covered chair beside him. 

And is that-- “You’re not gonna spend this entire party doing homework, are you? I can’t allow that!” A peal of giggles tumbles out of her, a flush already forming high in her cheekbones, and yeah.

It can’t be much past 5 with the sun beating down on Dan’s notes as much as it is, yet the dark red liquid in Mrs. Howell’s glass has already been reduced down to a tiny pool. There’s no point arguing with her now, so Dan quietly slides his notebook, pens, and textbook into his backpack as his mom slaps her hand on the table, her dark eyes taking on a rare sparkle. 

“Got it!” she shouts, loud enough for Dan’s entire face to flame red. “How ‘bout you head over to the snack table, pour some drinks for anyone who comes by? That way, you can get that human interaction you clearly need, and I’m sure the neighbors will be thrilled to see you! Plus you’ll get to hang out with your friend Phil! I think I saw him hanging around there, won’t that be nice?”

“For the last time, Mom, we’re not friends,” Dan sighs, knowing damn well his protests won’t go anywhere. “But yeah fine, I’ll go. Couldn’t really concentrate on Psych anyway.”

“Fantastic, that’s my boy!” 

But Dan’s already halfway to the snack table with nothing but a backwards wave for his buzzed mom.

Without thinking, he shakes his dark brown curls out to the opening notes of What Makes You Beautiful, one of the more tolerable songs on the playlist (but only just), as he pulls out a chair behind a wide array of pops and iced teas and, curiously, a massive jug of apple cider that hasn’t been opened. 

The Lesters were dedicated to their theme. Clearly.

As much as Dan wants to snap at his mom and everyone here for cutting into his limited homework time, something in the sight of the neighborhood kids pushing each other on the slip ‘n slide while licking caramel apples, as the evening sun gives everything a soft glow like it’s in a coming of age movie, makes Dan’s chest tug a little. 

This is his last back to school block party. Next year, with any luck, he’ll be at NYU and far away from this horrendously stifling Pennsylvania town. Of course because not a damn thing in Dan’s life gets handed to him, that requires winning their top merit scholarship. And beating out hundreds of thousands of seniors across the country. Maybe even the world.

Including, by the sound of the honor kids’ gossip, the very blue-eyed, quiffed up asshole heading for the snack table right now. The same one who Dan’s sure barely needs that scholarship that’s been his entire world for the past four years. That’s his one ticket out of this town and away from these assholes who think they have any access to his life because he’s the top of their class. And Dan knows damn well a lifetime of TV dinners and “one big present” Christmases aren’t going to pay for New York.

Maybe it’s a good thing this is his last block party.

Heat rises in him as Phil gets closer, tearing Dan’s focus away from the rest of the party and to a very uninteresting wrinkle in the tablecloth he’s just itching to smooth out. Dan refuses though, because considering his luck, he’d probably end up causing a soda avalanche. Sodalanche? Dan has to stop himself from smirking at his very lame joke so Phil doesn’t think he’s a complete freak.

“Oh Dan, hey,” Phil says, leaning one hand against the table and fumbling around a bit with the other one before sliding it in his back pocket. “I, uh, didn’t realize you were gonna be here tonight.”

“Really?” Phil hadn’t gotten brain damage that quickly, did he? “Who do you think was stuck in your front hall with your mom for an eternity an hour ago? And watching you and your parents buzzing around with your perfect last minute touches on every chair out here?”

It could be a trick of the sun, but Dan swears hints of pink bursts into life on Phil’s cheeks. And...wait a second, was that Phil’s attempt at a _pick up line?_

No. There’s no freaking way. Dan can’t let his class rank waver for a second because of some dick with the most ridiculous cheekbones he’s ever seen. He’s a Howell, for fuck’s sake. And Howells don’t fall for distractions. Head down, work hard, as his dad says.

“Yeah, uh… right,” Phil continues, and Dan blinks himself out of his fog. “Anyway, so how wild is it that we’re already at college application year? How’s that going--I mean, you can never be too early, right?”

Is he for real right now? Actual Phil Lester, asking Dan about--

Ohhhhhhhh. That little shit. Well then, should Dan lie and say he’s super far ahead just to intimidate him, or be honest so at least Phil knows he’s not getting any hints?

As this all flashes through his mind, the music flips to a Katy Perry song that flashes Dan back to middle school. Then Phil reaches for the jug of apple cider, and an idea flickers in Dan’s mind. 

“Here, let me get that,” he tells Phil, twisting off the cap with a pasted-on smile. He pours cider into a red plastic cup, stopping just a centimeter away from the top. Then, just as conversationally as Phil brought up the subject, Dan adds, “Yeah, you know, isn’t it just in _sane_ how much colleges expect from us now, I swear you have to be a superhuman or something--”

He throws his hands up as Phil grabs the cup shoved at him and--BINGO. Deep amber liquid soaks through Phil’s shirt and, just as Dan expected, Phil spills the rest of the cup all over himself in his fumbling.

“Hey, what the…?”

“As _if_ you’re gonna get a leg up on your applications that easily, you dick! I mean, what did you think?”

“Daniel!” A sharp, decidedly not drunk voice cuts through the chaos. “What the hell was that? Phil, I’m sorry for my son.” 

Dan’s mom runs a hand through her hair, forgetting it’s tied back, pulling her brunette curls in every direction. “Daniel, I expect you’ll be helping your friend clean himself off and get a fresh shirt.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about getting anything, hon, I’ve got you!” Apparently summoned by the shouts of her son, Mrs. Lester appears with a roll of paper towels Dan swears she conjured from thin air. In one motion, she tosses the paper towels at Dan while squeezing Phil’s shoulder and turning towards the house. “And remember to _dab_ , not rub!” 

Every bit the 1950s housewife, Dan half expects to hear high heels clacking against the paving stones as he takes as long as possible to turn back to Phil. This is when the Muse logo fully registers in Dan’s vision--and like a cartoon animal met with their greatest predator, his entire being short circuits.

Dan’s never paid attention to Phil’s fashion choices, choosing instead to keep as great of a distance as possible. So for all he knows, Phil could have worn this every day of high school. (And judging by the faded letters and worn neckline, he very well may have.) 

But goddamnit, did he have to steal Dan’s favorite band too?

_In, 2, 3, 4. Hold 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Out 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8._

Just like his old therapist taught him, Dan envisions a felt eraser wiping the anger and fury and stress from his mind before he tears off several paper towels and approaches Phil with the stoniest expression he can muster.

“Damn, don’t wear yourself out there, dude. At this rate, the sun could dry it faster.” 

Andddd yep, there’s the Phil Dan knows. 

“You know, the wet T shirt thing might be a look if I wasn’t so blinded by your forehead.” 

Phil just rolls his eyes. 

Finally, Dan sucks in a long breath and taps his paper towels once against Phil’s chest. His hand isn’t anywhere near Phil’s skin, yet his entire face is set aflame. Dan taps a few more times, flicking his eyes over to find Phil looking around everywhere but at the mess he’s made of himself, his cheeks a curious shade of pink--but not from Dan, it’s probably just the sun--

Then Dan’s feet choose that moment to stop holding him up and he stumbles forward, steadying himself with a hand on Phil’s shoulder and oh _shit._

As soon as it makes contact, he whips his hand away as if it’s been burned. 

That was weird, but Dan shouldn’t read into it. He hasn’t had human contact in who knows how long, that’s it. Even if no relative or theatre friend ever set off a spark that flew through his veins, leaving him with an undeniable feeling of connection.

Yeah, no. Dan’s just incredibly, incredibly touch starved. It’s nothing.

Refusing to subject himself to another snarky comment, Dan sucks it up and taps a bit harder, forcing himself to examine the sorry state of Phil’s shirt while the nails of his right hand dig deeper into his palm. His heart stutters again when he reaches the Muse logo in the center of Phil’s chest, but he moves on quickly. 

The screams of his youngest neighbors are pounding in his ears while the space between his eyes is pounding with the force of the late August sun shining right in his face. Dan can feel his breaths growing shallower and all he can do is pray Phil doesn’t hear it too, or if he does at least he doesn’t care…

And then the sliding doors slam shut and Dan jumps a mile, his own feet almost taking him down as he stumbles backwards.

Mrs. Lester reaches them in two strides, brandishing a dark purple T-shirt patterned with tiny white stars. “Dan, sweetheart, I meant _under_ the shirt. Dry paper towels aren’t gonna do a thing here, that’s what Oxi Clean is for.” She smiles at her own joke and Dan’s mouth goes dry.

Und... _no._ She can’t be serious. 

Apparently Phil’s thinking the same, since the pink on his cheeks has now spread to the rest of his face. “Mom it’s fine, it barely even got me wet,” he grumbles. “It’s just the shirt.”

“Well then Dan’s got an easier job, doesn’t he?”

Nobody can argue with that. With a deep sigh, Phil peels off his Muse shirt, revealing a... relatively normal seventeen-year-old boy torso—but it’s the smoothness of his pale skin that sends a burst of heat racing through Dan’s body. 

His fingers shake as he tears and crumples another set of paper towels, and Dan is forced to spend several seconds staring at a patch of grass as he wills the blood to fade from his cheeks. He has to pretend Phil’s a co-star in one of his shows just to be able to approach him again. 

It’s the longest five seconds of Dan’s life, yet somehow he manages to dab at Phil’s skin wherever it looks the slightest bit damp. Again, there’s that zap of something pulling him deeper, making Dan’s head fog up in the strangest (but also kinda comforting?) way. 

That is, until a familiar high-pitched giggle rings out beneath his ear. 

“Ooooh Dan, you didn’t tell us you got a _boyfriend_ this summer! And that he lives on our block—hi, Phil!” She giggles again, twirling a bright blonde curl around her finger, and Dan kind of wants to punch her.

But he takes a deep breath instead, crouching down to the nine-year-old’s height with the brightest smile he can muster. “Hey Abby.”

Abby Emerson, along with her two brothers and three sisters, all participate in the theatre group at their and Dan’s church where Dan had co-directed _Peter Pan_ this summer. After Abby had earned the role of Wendy, though, she’d taken to strutting around town thinking she had every right to insert herself in everyone’s conversations. 

“I think you know that’s not true,” Dan adds. “I just spilled some cider on him and my mom wanted me to clean it up, that’s all.”

“Mmmhmmm. And I’m sure your face just got a really bad sunburn in the five days since our last performance!”

“Oh come on!” But she’s already skipped off to climb the Lesters’ wooden playset with her sisters. 

With a solid push against his knees, Dan pops back up to survey the rest of the party. By some miracle, everyone else is engrossed in their own conversations, even the kids who appear to be pounding out the rules for an intense game of wizards vs. werewolves. 

A drop of disappointment settles in his brain when he finds Phil’s got his new shirt on, but Dan shakes it away just as quickly. 

What’s way more interesting is the way Phil is rooted to the spot, his phone tucked tight to his chest. Dan dares a glance before Phil edges away, and his screen is so dim that Dan thinks for a second it’s not even on.

But then Phil’s pointer finger does the telltale flick of a refresh, a massive smile stretching across his cheeks. So he _is_ looking at something. Even if Dan can’t imagine how any human could see, um, whatever the hell it is. 

But as much as his Sherlock senses may be tingling, he’s got a job to do. So he tosses the paper towels in the large trash can at the other end of the snack table before crossing back to the drinks and setting the rest of the roll next to that damn apple cider. 

Scowling, Dan resumes his post, but with one eye on Phil this time. 

Because fuck it, Dan’s not giving up that scholarship without giving it the fight of his life.


End file.
